


the quintain

by heartofstanding



Series: Edward the Black Prince and Richard II [3]
Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Angst, Cute Kids, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, terminally ill character, the Black Prince was a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21704434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: Edward watches his young son, Richard, learning how to ride. He thinks - and worries - about the bigger obstacles to come, both in Richard's training and their future.
Relationships: Edward the Black Prince & Richard II of England, Edward the Black Prince/Joan of Kent
Series: Edward the Black Prince and Richard II [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1430167
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	the quintain

**Author's Note:**

> This is written as a follow-up or companion to [Fighting Gravity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848688) but you don't have to read it to understand this.
> 
> A quintain is "a post set up as a mark in tilting with a lance, typically with a sandbag attached that would swing round and strike an unsuccessful tilter" ([Oxford Lexico](https://www.lexico.com/en/definition/quintain)). But everything Edward tells Richard about the quintain's purpose is my invention.

It’s a good day for Edward. Which means that he’s successfully bullied his doctors into letting him leave his bed and actually managed to get out of his room and into the free air. Of course, it will only last for as long as it takes his doctors to find Joan and ask her to send him back to bed. In the meantime, he will enjoy the air and the sun and the sight of his son riding.

Richard is quite good at it. He’s showing signs of growing up long and lean like Edward (or at least like Edward was before illness had hollowed him out) and his form is excellent, or as excellent as a child of his age can manage. Richard’s confident in the saddle too, the communication between him and the old palfrey named Bramble almost instinctive. Edward knows, because Richard has told him, that his son has dedicated some effort into sneaking out to the stables to spoil Bramble.

Though Edward wonders what his son will do when he owns more than one horse. Probably lose himself in excitement and send every single apple to the stables. Edward won’t be too sorry about that. Nasty things, apples.

‘You should be in bed, my love,’ Joan says behind him.

He twists around to look at her and then abruptly turns back. She looks far from pleased, her eyes narrowed and lips flat and unsmiling. He wonders what she was doing when they told her he was out of bed, if they interrupted her in something they shouldn’t have.

‘Look at our son,’ he says. ‘He’s got excellent form.’

‘Or at least inside,’ she says. ‘The air is too fresh.’

He shakes his head. The air is fine, neither overly warm or cold, and he’s conceded to his doctors’ concerns by wrapping himself in a blanket. She comes to stand in front of him and presses her fingers under his chin, tilting his head up and resting her free hand against his brow to test his temperature. Her face loses a little of its severity.

‘He’s a good rider, isn’t he? They’ll have him practising with the quintain soon and after that, jousting.’

‘Not for a while,’ Joan says.

‘No.’

Edward doubts he’ll ever see Richard train for jousts. If he is still alive when that time comes, he will be stuck in bed then. He closes his eyes and bends his head to kiss Joan’s wrist. She smiles at him, losing the last remnants of her irritation.

‘Besides, I don’t think he’ll do too well at jousting,’ she says.

‘No?’

‘You think Dickon will _want_ to knock someone off a horse?’ Joan says, eyes full of laughter. ‘Will _enjoy_ it?’

Edward laughs. ‘No, no, of course not. But the sport of it – he’s got—’

‘Excellent form, I know,’ Joan says. She sits down beside him and takes his hand, weaving their fingers together. ‘You’re proud of him.’

Proud? He supposes that’s a word for it though it seems dreadfully inaccurate. It’s so much more than pride. Joy, adoration and love as well, all mixed together. He nods all the same.

‘What’s not to be proud of?’ he says.

Richard has finished his riding and he listens attentively to his instructor, stroking his hand along Bramble’s neck. He nods and slips down from the saddle and begins to walk away. When he sees them, his face lights up and he starts running. At the last, he checks himself and looks between them, clearly unsure who he wants first.

‘You take him,’ Edward says in an undertone to Joan. ‘He’ll knock me over.’

‘You’d deserve it, frightening your doctors like that.’

‘I love you.’

‘It’s the only reason I put up with you,’ she says, grinning at him.

Richard throws himself at Joan, hugging her tight. Joan wraps her arms around him and buries her face in the curly gold of Richard’s hair. Then Richard is climbing onto Edward’s lap. Edward bites back his groan and hugs Richard close.

‘Were you watching? Papa, Mama? Did I do good?’

No doubt his instructor would have told him so but Edward squeezes him. ‘You did wondrously. You have excellent form.’

‘It was like watching your papa joust again,’ Joan says and Edward gives her a warning look. Richard’s young enough that he doesn’t understand the way Edward’s health limits him. He’ll ask if Edward will show him how to joust and Edward will have to find some way to gently deny Richard.

‘Really?’ Richard’s face lights up, dimples appearing in his cheeks.

Edward nods. ‘You did very, very well.’

‘Will says I can try it with the quintain soon,’ Richard says. He squirms around on Edward’s lap until he’s facing the field again, pointing to the lists. ‘He says it’s scary but it’s important.’

‘It is,’ Edward says. ‘You have to get your lance just right, drive it with enough force or else it’ll swing around and hit you. Knock you off your horse.’

Richard nods. He bites his lip hard and Edward rubs his back.

‘But what’s important about it,’ he says, ‘is not learning to hit the quintain perfectly. That’s quickly learnt, though not very nicely.’

Richard nods again. ‘It’ll hurt.’

‘Yes,’ Edward says. ‘You’ll end up covered in bruises, or at least I did.’

‘Papa!’

Joan laughs, reaching out to tug on Richard’s unruly curls. ‘It’s why you wear armour, sweet-thing. It’ll protect you.’

‘Right,’ Edward says. ‘But the most important thing is that the quintain teaches you how to fall.’

‘I don’t want to fall,’ Richard whispers. He looks back at Edward, white-faced, and Edward hugs him close.

‘No one does,’ he says. ‘And you can learn how to hit the quintain perfectly so you always get it right and never fall.’

‘Can’t you just tell me?’

Edward smiles and kisses Richard’s forehead. It’s tempting – his own father never tried to teach him the point of the quintain. He made it sound like the goal was to not get hit and Edward gravely disappointed him each time he pulled himself from the training field, bruised, limping and covered in a layer of dirt from falling so many times. But it’s hard to explain where to aim your lance – suddenly you just _see_ it – and that’s not the point of the quintain.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You have to learn for yourself – everyone does. And see, you can do it perfectly with the quintain but you won’t face the quintain in a joust or in a battle. Men are not as predictable. They move, change the way they couch the lance. Leave themselves open or closed to an attack. Your uncle of Lancaster has a trick where his opponent thinks he sees an opening and goes for only to be knocked right off his horse.’

Richard nods slowly.

‘But the point is,’ Edward says, ‘there’s always a risk you’ll fall from your horse. And you need to know how to land properly so any hurt is minimal.’

‘And that you don’t get trampled by your own horse,’ Joan says which Edward thinks is not entirely helpful.

‘ _You_ don’t fall over,’ Richard says. ‘Papa, you never fall over in battle.’

‘I have,’ Edward says. ‘More times than I’ve cared to count. The trick is always doing it well enough that you can get back on your feet.’

‘No,’ Richard says. ‘You never have.’

Joan laughs. She reaches out and takes Richard’s hand, pressing it to Edward’s scalp, to the thin, long scar that runs beneath his hair. ‘Your papa got that in his first battle. The blow that did that knocked him onto his bottom.’

Richard giggles at the mention of bottom. But his face turns serious as he pats the scar. He begins to play with Edward’s hair, parting it to try and see the scar. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘Rather a lot at the time,’ Edward admits.

‘Kiss it better,’ Richard says, reaching out to tug on Joan’s sleeve. ‘Mama, kiss it better.’

‘Oh no,’ Joan says. ‘This one needs a son’s kiss, Richard.’

Richard nods quite seriously. He leans up and kisses Edward’s scalp and then sinks down. His little face is solemn and Edward tickles him, trying to break him of this strange mood. It works. Richard giggles and collapses against Edward’s chest, wrapping his arms around Edward’s neck.

‘Papa,’ he says. ‘What if I don’t want to fight? Or joust?’

Edward cups his cheeks and dares to risk a glance at Joan. He wants to promise his son that he won’t have to, that he will never have to pick up a sword or lance unless he wants to. But it would be cruel to offer something that will never happen. The war with France is half-fought and he can see no easy way to peace. Other wars and battles may come. Edward had thought, when he was sixteen, that he would not sit and watch while his son fought in the van. Yet when Richard goes to war, Edward will not even sail with him. Edward may even be dead by then.

‘You will have to be very brave, then,’ Edward says. ‘And I know you will be.’

‘Would it make you ashamed?’ Richard asks him. ‘If I didn’t? If I wasn’t brave enough?’

‘No,’ Edward says, and he kisses Richard again. ‘No. I will never be ashamed of you. I will always be proud of you, whatever happens. I will never love you any less than I do now – I will only love you more and more.’

Richard’s face splits in a grin and he snuggles in, ignoring Edward’s little muffled groan as his son’s full weight settles on him. Joan looks at him and raises her brows, her lips pursing into a playful smile.

‘Your father’s gone all soggy, Richard,’ she says. ‘Let’s go in and put him to bed. We’ll worry about the quintain later.’


End file.
